Awake
by Blue xo
Summary: Inches from his goal, those damn blue eyes opened. "I'm awake, Baz", Simon whispered. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey there.**

 **This is a fluffy one-shot that I've come up with as I'm locked indoors with Ex Storm Ophelia preventing me from stepping foot outside my home without being blown away, or hit smack in the face with a fallen sign-post. It's short and sweet, with a few spelling mistakes I may have overlooked, but I'm overall pleased with how it's turned out. SnowBaz is a pairing I just adore and I had to try my own hand at writing a fic based on it.** **Enjoy this dose of fluff, and wherever you are in the world, stay safe. xx**

* * *

 **BAZ**

Here's a situation.

Though, I'm still not very sure how, or why, I let it happened. Then again, at the same time, I am.

It's routine for me, every night, to lie awake and drink in the peaceful expression woven into his features as he sleeps in a bed no more than two metres away from mine, memorise the moles on his face, marvel the wave his bronze curls tumble into across his pillow. Only at night, when the moon shines through our window is his skin as pale as mine. Though his isn't as ghostly, as deathly. More angelic.

He tosses and turns in his sleep, mumbling and whimpering. Like me, he's plagued with night terrors. Like me, he often awakes in a cold sweat, heaving breath after breath, trying to figure if this is reality, or yet another part of the nightmare. When the shock has passed, he leaves behind his overpowering smell of smoke (he always smells like smoke, but this smell is different, more ashier and panicked than his usual dark and calm mossy-green scent). I sometimes fear that his duvet will catch alight; one time he awoke so violently that he damn near went off.

I should comfort him.

I should do what a good room mate does; comfort the other in their times of need, settle them, whisper that everything is going to be OK, even when you know its not. Rock them back into their deep slumber, content and at ease.

I don't though.

Instead, I go about my business in the morning, sneering and growling at him like I always do, like I'm _supposed_ to do. I prod at him to the extent that he nearly does go off from pure annoyance, and I get a sick satisfaction when I push him to his breaking point. His smoky magick leaks everywhere, and I get drunk on it. I find myself wanting more of it.

I crave his magick more than blood. I crave Simon more than life.

I don't know how many nights at this stage I've spent lying awake watching him sleep. Since last year? Since first year? I find myself envying the stupid git for his ability to curl up into a fetal position and be fast asleep within seconds his head hits the pillow. I, on the other hand, toss and turn for hours, my mind restless, my heart aching.

It's not exactly easy to fall asleep when the one you love is asleep no more than two metres away from you.

I could cover that distance in two steps. I could.

And now, I fucking have.

I like to consider myself smart. I'm at the top of each of my classes after all; Bunce's fury that radiates from her as her efforts to beat me fail is something I relish in (not as much as I relish winding Snow up, so much that he comes right up to my face and spits his disgust. I don't care what he says, as long as those blue fucking eyes are focused on me.) (Crowley I need help.)

The predicament I've now found myself in proves otherwise. Right now, I'm the dumbest person alive. (Or undead, whatever.) (Fucking vampire body.)

I haven't fed in two days; Snow has been constantly on my case ever since I escaped the numpties and demanded that Fiona brought me back to Watford. No way was I going to let my grades slip, let Bunce take top of the class. Therefore, my already pale face was now deathly; the lack of feeding had stolen the colour from my cheeks. I'm tired, and hungry to be satisfied with something that food alone can't do.

Something that blood alone _can't_ do.

Maybe that's why Snow's bronze shoulders (too sprinkled with freckles like cinnamon was dusted on him and wasn't swept off) peaking over his comforter were so enticing, maybe that's why his stupid bronze curls looked more silkier, daring me to run a pale hand through them. Maybe that's why I slipped my socked feet out of bed onto our stone floor.

Maybe that's why I silently glided my way over to his bedside.

Maybe that's I daringly placed a hand one side of him on the bed, let the other trace, without touching him, the moles on his face, like they were a constellation.

Maybe that's why his smoky scent, peaceful this time; the usual mossy-green, was so much more slurring, so much easier to get drunk on.

And maybe that's why I lowered myself so close to his sleeping, perfect face, let myself inhale his breath and almost bite his lip.

Almost.

Because inches from my goal, those drowning blue eyes, those fucking blue eyes, opened.

"I'm awake, Baz", Snow whispered.

I don't know how long I stood there, bent double and hovering over his now conscious body (or _already_ conscious body), frozen like a dear caught unaware, staring into into those blue seas. His eyes looked nothing like the sea, but I still found myself drowning in them. His lashes, now that I was this close to him, where short and chocolaty. His lips where pink and parted (mouth breather).

Finally, sense came back to me like a slap to the face and I reeled back, so violently that I tripped and miraculously landed on my own bed. My own stupid bed that I should've stayed in and never should have let my hunger remove me from it. Leave it to go hunting, alright, but the right type of hunting. Not hunting for Simon bloody Snow's lips.

So here I am, sitting ungracefully on my bed with my love gazing at me with clouded eyes. I can usually read them, but now I can't. They're overcast, and nothing is being betrayed by them.

I should say something snarky, I should say "Your drool was disgusting me, Snow, I was trying to see if I could shut your trap once and for all."

I should. I need to.

But I don't.

Snow blinks, chocolate lashes fluttering. "Baz?" he whispers lowly, timidly. Seductively. (His voice always sounds seductive to me.)

I clear my throat, willing for my lips to draw back into a sneer, willing for my cool, calm, collected stance to return, willing for my insults to rise to the back of my throat like I will magick to my fingers. But I can't. It's like he's casted ****Cat got your tongue**** , and I can't fucking speak.

And then I realize how terrified I am.

I've let my guard down; he's seen me. Crowley, Snow may be thick, but he's not thick enough to put two and two together, to understand what my intentions were.

Snow slowly rises from his bed, and I flinch. He notices, but he advances towards me anyway, his stupid blue eyes focused on me. Never blinking, never leaving.

And then he _sits_ on _my_ bed. The only thing he hasn't touched, the only thing he hasn't _taken_ from me. But he has now, like he has my heart, my mind, my voice.

He gazes into my eyes. It sounds so clichéd, but he does. He swallows, and his Adam's Apple bobs in his throat; he has the longest swallow I've ever seen. That's where I'd like to kiss him. Or bite him. Or both.

Snow's hand fingers for mine, and I gasp. I fucking gasp. I'm pathetic. But I'm also lost in his orbs, drowning in his seas, and I need him to do something before I _do_ drown.

His hand has fully grasped mine now, and it's soft and gentle. And warm. Simon is always so hot (Metaphorically and quite literally).

"Baz.." he says, again. He's searching my eyes, my grey reaches. For what, I don't know. And… could he possibly be looking at my lips? Aleister Crowley could he?

"Baz what… what do you want?" Snow whispers.

Now it's my turn to swallow, and I finally start to feel the nervous lump sink from my throat. But butterflies take it's place, and my stomach clenches into knots. I think I'll kiss him. I want to, I fucking need to. I need to leave before I do.

"Simon.." I say, and I can't help but let my eyes tail down to look at his soft, warm lips again. I find myself biting mine. I could do it, I could bloody well do it. Then set myself alight.

Snow notices, and he sighs. Just as I think he'll look at me in disgust, pummel me to a pulp (he's weaker than me, but in my state now, he's stronger than me now), or damn right go off in that moment, instead he smiles, his eyes soft and gentle. His smile reaches his eyes.

"All you had to do was ask..." he says.

And then _he_ kisses me.

Crowley, I'm living a charmed life.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN; Since I got such a nice response on the previous chapter, I decided to make this a two-shot from Simon's perspective. It's short, yes, but I feel like it captures all that Simon has to think or say. He isn't much of a thinker anyway, after all.**

 **Addressing 'Guest' from the comments; Thank you for reviewing both this and In A Heartbeat, you're very sweet. However, no, I'm not from America, I live on the other side of the Atlantic on the island of Ireland. Hurricane Ophelia manifested near/in America on the Atlantic (I'm not entirely sure of it's origin and it's affects on America, sorry) first before travelling across the Atlantic and hit the south-west coast of Ireland before travelling more inland towards Britain. Just thought I'd clarify that, but thanks again!**

 **So without further ado, enjoy, and thank you for reading!**

* * *

 **Simon**

Baz is cold.

I know that vampires are supposed to be cold- they are dead after all. Their blood just about crawls slowly through their veins, and their eyes are grey, drained of life.

The coldness still managed to shock me though. But in the best way possible.

I finally have him; under my control, under my thumb, and between my lips. I've always wanted him there. Crowley, especially there.

Agatha never felt like this. Sure, I liked to kiss her. And hold hands. But that's were it ended. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure I even liked being __with__ her. I always felt like I was about to do something wrong, and anything I did do that I thought was right, well, I did wrong. I couldn't talk to her about horses; I knew as much about them as I did about my own parents: nothing. I couldn't talk to her about hair or makeup, or any of the stuff that she's actually interested in.

If Baz wasn't a vampire, he'd be bloody perfect for her. He'd know all about horses, what suit and which colour tie to wear to an event. He'd know about the different breeds of horses, when to clap and how loudly he could cheer. And all he'd have to do is wink at her, and then she'd fall head over heels for him and be his. His plans to hurt me would have succeeded, and he'd have gotten what he wanted; Agatha, the golden prize, me, a useless Chosen One who couldn't hold onto his girl.

Although now I'm sure that's not he wants, and never was.

Because if he did he wouldn't be pushing against my lips, fighting for dominance. (A much better kind of fighting, for definite)

His pale hands wouldn't be gripping my curls and pulling me closer to him.

He wouldn't be trembling, these violent shivers rolling through his body, with want, with need, with desire.

And he certainly wouldn't have pulled me flush against him.

I love our contrasts; I am hot, he is cold. I am rough and careless, he is strong but certain with his actions. I am smoke, but he is the fire.

I am the sun and he is everything around me.

This is also why me and Agatha could never have worked; because two suns can't exist beside each other. They'd burn and burn together until they'd eventually, well, burn out. And nothing would be left.

Baz pulls away, and I frown, unsatisfied. I try to lean in again but he stops me, though not by shoving me away or punching me. Instead he gently lets his forehead rest against mine, his grey eyes blazing into mine. Uncertain, confused.

Afraid.

"Snow, what are you doing?" he whispers fiercely, eyes never leaving mine. But he knows my answer, even before I say it;

"What we both want."

And then his lips are crashing into mine again, and I'm pushing him back onto __his__ bed, above him on all fours and everything's hot and cold and __alive__.

I'm awake, Baz.


End file.
